“Guess that makes sense,” Bohdan muttered, snapping more pictures.
“Mr.… Campbell,” Harley said over her shoulder. “Could you scare up a sheet or a blanket? Until we can arrange to remove the body?”
Campbell frowned. “Now?”
“Please.”
“I’ll be right back.” He turned and moved away, walking fast.
As soon as he was out of sight, Harley said, “Quickly, help me put him on his back.”
Bohdan pocketed his phone and helped her turn him. “No rigor?”
“The body is too old for that,” she said.
“You sent Campbell away.”
“See this?” She pointed to the man’s mouth. The skin around it was blue.
“Lack of oxygen?”
She nodded. “And this…” She traced the line along Martin ap Golden’s cheek, from the corner of his mouth up toward his eye socket, not quite touching the flesh.
Bohdan twisted his head to study it. “Is that…drool?”
“Dried drool, yes. It travelled up his face. His head was hanging upside down when he died, but we found him on his face.” She looked at Bohdan. “The body has been moved since he died. Campbell is hiding something.”
Be careful with Campbell. Akicita’s warning came back to her. Now she understood why she had said it.
Bohdan glanced over his shoulder. “What now?”
Harley bent and sniffed the body. Death was a familiar smell to her and there was nothing else odd or unusual emanating from the body. It wore a lab coat, just like the other workers on the floor.
She radiated her inspection out from the body, mentally drawing a circle around it. A cylinder, actually, for there might be evidence up higher than eye level. But she started with the floor.
Under the bottom tray of the nearest grow tower, she spotted something which glinted in the bright lights. “Is that garbage, under there?” she asked Bohdan. “No, hook it out with your pen,” she said quickly, as he reached for it. They needed evidence bags—a box of zip-lock bags from the grocery store would do. But for now she moved over to the tower and bent close to look at what Bohdan had pulled out.
It was an innocent-looking blister pack, empty, with the backing foil peeled back. The foil had caught the light of the grow lights. She held out her hand and Bohdan put his pen in it. She used the tip to flip the pack onto its back so she could see the shape of the clear blister.
It was a broad house shape—flat bottom, vertical sides, angled roof, but in the middle a blunt steeple rose.
Her heart thudded as she stared at the thing.
Faint steps sounded on the concrete. Harley snatched up the blister pack, shoved it into her jeans pocket and moved back to the body. She gave Campbell a hard smile as he came around the corner, carrying a red and white blanket, which he shook out to reveal a Calgary Flames logo. “Don’t tell me…you’re an Oilers fan.”
“I am,” she said, for it gave her an excuse for her stiff posture. She was out of practice at dissembling. “Here, let me help.”
The three of them spread the blanket over the top of Martin ap Golden.
“Someone will be by to pick up the body,” Harley told Campbell. “We can’t tell anything about what happened without an autopsy—”
“Or even with one,” Campbell added. “He was a dryad. Human doctors are still trying to figure out our physiologies.”
“The blue lips are suggestive,” Harley said smoothly. “It is possible for us to die of strokes and heart attacks.” Us. She wasn’t sure if she had used that inclusive term with another of the old races before today. It felt strange. Odd on the tongue.
She made herself continue. “If he hasn’t been properly controlling his protein intake, he might have had a fatal seizure. He was found here? No one heard anything?”
“Not a thing,” Campbell said smoothly. “My night shift manager found him when he was doing his last round for the night.”
“Can I talk to him?”
Campbell hesitated. “Well, if you really must. But David’s an orc.”
“Got it,” Harley said. “I might swing by tonight, when David’s up, if that’s okay?”
“Absolutely,” Campbell replied, his smile bright once more.
“It was good to meet you, Mr.…Campbell.”
“And you, Chief Canmore.”
“Harley.”
“Harley.” Campbell’s smile was even warmer. His eyes danced. “Welcome to Falconer, Harley von Canmore.”
•
THEY WERE IN THE CAR before Harley would let Bohdan speak.
“Man, you’re one cool cookie, chief,” he said, his tone admiring. “I thought you were going to puke or pass out when you saw the wrapper, but when he came back, you coulda fooled me that you weren’t concerned about how the dude died.”
“Where are you heading?”
“Back to the station, I thought.”
“Head for Sundre.”
“Sundre?”
“I need to speak to the RCMP in Sundre. This is a criminal investigation, now.”
“It is?”
Harley pulled the blister pack out of her pocket and rested it on the console between them. “Know what that is?”
He shook his head.
“You should remember what it looks like. That’s a Naloxone inhaler.”
Bohdan still looked puzzled.
“Naloxone is an emergency treatment for opioid overdose. It holds off the effects of an overdose until the victim can get full medical help.”
“Like an EpiPen?”
“Just like that. They hand these kits out free these days, because besides being super addictive and dangerous as fuck, Fentanyl is an opioid.”
“Fentanyl? Here?” Bohdan shook his head. “This is Falconer, ma’am. You’d be hard pressed to find an illegal stash of anything, let alone a whole Fentanyl lab.”
“Maybe Naloxone doesn’t work on the old races,” Harley said. “Or maybe they didn’t give it to him fast enough, or the overdose was too large…but Campbell is hiding something and I can’t help thinking that it was weird all his gardeners were wearing lab coats.”
“You think they’re hiding a lab in there somewhere?”
“I’m thinking that they had someone on their watch die of an opioid overdose and they moved the body to hide that fact. They even dressed him in a fresh lab coat. I won’t say anything else right now. This is beyond petty theft, Bohdan. The RCMP must take it up, now.”
•
THE
